Blood Stains and Scars Don't Heal
by tatteredparchment
Summary: One is not born evil, one becomes it, as one writes one's own destiny with the choices one makes.rnThe transformation from Tom Riddle to Lord Voldemort. After all, evil, it's only what you make of it.
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: I do not, under any circumstances, own Harry Potter or any of the characters, places and items affiliated with the series, it is all owned by JK Rowling, and this fanfiction is not intended for profit, but merely for my own personal enjoyment.

I glared angrily at my reflection in the mirror, all I saw was a young boy, one with black hair… a half blood. One that had the filthy name of a muggle, and one that looked like his father, a filthy muggle. Scowling I punched the mirror, getting shards of the glass in my knuckles. With a look of utter disgust I ripped the bits of glass out of my skin and wrapped my hand in a bit of cloth, although I really deserved to die with muggle blood befouling my body. At that moment I knew that I was going to kill every muggle that I came across, every last bloody one.

The first person I was going to kill was my father, and the second was that blasted orphanage that I had been forced to live at for far too long of my life. I was ready, ready to change the appearance that had been hindering me for half my life. I wanted to look like Lord Voldemort. My twisted sneer formed on my lips almost naturally as I called for my few followers. They called themselves the Death Eaters. And already I had begun to brand my mark onto their skin.

The mark of a skull with a snake protruding from its mouth, it would burn black and send stinging sensation shooting up their arm, so they would know, know that I wanted them. I looked about the dank room of the shabby inn in Albania that I was staying at. The loud crack that sounded about the room told me instantly that my followers had joined me and were coming to do my very bidding.

All seven of them, my closest friends from school, surrounded me wearing the black robes and the masks of the Death Eaters. I smiled bleakly; most of them were from houses other than Slytherin. Proving that not only Slytherins could be corrupted. "You called us master?" one of them rasped.

I smiled grimly although I am sure it was not really much of a smile, "Yes. If I am to be Lord Voldemort then I shall need to look like him. Looking like a young boy will get me virtually nowhere."

The general assembly nodded and agreed with murmured whispers. I snarled to myself, my Death Eaters were probably about as faithful to me as water is to fire. "Well, you bloody morons! Find the potions, find the spells and prepare them! I want to look like Lord Voldemort, and I want to look like him as quickly as possible!"

With a series of loud cracks the room was finally emptied. My Death Eaters gone, to find me spells and potions I should hope. Otherwise there would be serious consequences. Grave ones I might point out.

I glanced back to the shattered fragments of mirror that still hung in the frame. I could see a distorted image of myself, with an ugly look on my face. I wanted to kill my father. He was the fool that stuck me with this filthy name, and with these filthy looks. It was a shame to my ancestry. I had been told that I was indeed the heir of Salazar Slytherin, I was the heir. Slytherin would be turning in his grave to find out that his descendant was half muggle. A half blood, partly a mudblood. It was disgusting. I would be turning over in my grave if I ever found that out myself.

I knew everything about Slytherin that I could find, everything. I wanted to know about my family tree, my ancestry, my roots. And yet I wanted more. I craved it with everything in my soul. I wanted to be the perfect descendant of Slytherin, the perfect one. Not that I needed much in the way of motivation when it came to killing muggleborns, I had many reasons of my own to be doing that.

i _I could feel the cold of the cellar room I was in, punishment well only part of it. I was always being punished. It was like the orphanage master had something against me. Biting my lower lip I protested from the cries that threatened to fly free from my lips as a sharp sting hit my back, again and again I could feel the strap flying across my back. I could taste the distinct metallic flavouring from blood; I had bit my lip through in a desperate attempt to keep in the screams and the tears that had silently started streaming down my face. Cowering on the floor, the blows stopped and I heard the door of my dungeon slam shut. Gently I ran my hand up my back, softly feeling out every welt. Letting loose a low cry I hugged my knees, willing the pain to go away. I was hoping that if I concentrated hard enough I could get the pain to melt, like ice. Then I wouldn't have to feel it any longer. _

_I sat there huddled in the cold, moulding corner until I heard the distinct creak of an opening door. I shuddered, afraid that it was going to come to more blows. "Get out Riddle, now." Whimpering quietly I ran out of the room, the dungeon, without a backwards glance. As soon as I had run up the rickety steps I began to compose myself, showing pain, fear, worry and sadness was the right way to get in trouble. This orphanage was no place to grow up and I knew it. All I wanted to do right now however was to survive it, until I was old enough to get away…_ /i

My face tightened considerably as I remembered the pain of my childhood. Then I remembered my vow, in seventh year. i _I will kill all those filthy cur, every single bloody one, and it will hurt…_ /i I looked into my deep blue eyes, courtesy of the fragments of the leftover mirror, "And you will keep your vows Tom…"

That was the last time I ever referred to myself as Tom, from then on in I would be Lord Voldemort. Lord Voldemort, greatest wizard of all time, heir to Salazar Slytherin.


	2. Chapter 2

_I could feel the stone floor underneath my barefeet, cold. Ice cold. Biting softly down on my bottom lip, as to not go through it, I steeled myself for the next step. I was not going to be a weakling. I placed my hand on the dank stone wall. Gently I trailed my hand along it looking for the doorway in the dark. I didn't want to risk any light…_

_I heard a grunt and footsteps coming from the other direction. Holding my breath I stood up against the wall, hoping that the teacher coming wouldn't walk into me, for all I had an invisibility charm on. _

_Barely breathing I could hear the footsteps slowly getting closer, vibrating off the empty corridors. Around the corner slowly came Professor Dumbledore. His blue eyes were deeply concentrated on the roll of parchment he held in his hand. A burning desire to kill Dumbledore leapt up and nearly choked me. "Riddle…"_

_I glanced up from the floor at Dumbledore, "What? But I- How?"_

_I saw a thin smile from Dumbledore, but his blue eyes were void of the regular twinkle in them, "Tom, don't do it."_

_I looked at him confused, what was he talking about? "Excuse me sir…?"_

_Dumbledore sighed, and his face seemed sad, "Tom, please don't go through with it, there are other alternatives. Give me back the book."_

_My lips unconsciously turning into my sneer I handed over the thick, leather bound book. The book that held much in the way of Dark Arts and spells to change ones features. "Sir."_

_"Tom, I don't want to find you doing this again, and remember I am keeping an eye on you." Dumbledore then turned the book under his arm and walked back down the passageway, his footsteps getting quieter as they faded away into the distance._

Opening my eyes, I could still feel Dumbledore's penetrating gaze. But Dumbledore was in Hogwarts, not in Albania, I was safe.

A loud crack sounded and urged me to move away from the window, my loyal, or not so loyal death eaters were behind me. "Master," one of them rasped, "We are ready…"

I turned to them, "Are you now?" Two of the death eaters came forward and handed me two falling apart books. After having done that all seven of them prostrated themselves at my feet. I resisted the sudden impulsive urge to kick the one in front of me. I wanted them to be submissive… oh so submissive. "What pages are these spells on?"

One rose and flipped through one of the books pointing out several different spells, "It depends on what you want to look like though master, if you want to look like a bear then the spell differs."

My facial muscles tightened, I was no idiot, I had the best marks in the school. Trust a pesky Ravenclaw to think that they were the whole brains of everything in the world. "Crucio," I said in a cold, indifferent voice as I pointed my wand at him. He began writhing of the ground, shrieking in pain. And all I could do was laugh, cold and high pitched. I wanted to see him squirm on the ground. I wanted him to feel this pain.

All the other death eaters gaped at the sight of me, Lord Voldemort laughing coldly at one of their fellow death eaters. I stopped my laughing and let up on the spell, "Let that be a lesson to you all," I began my voice still cold, and holding all the command in the room, "Never make the mistake of thinking I am stupid. It will be more painful next time."

All the death eaters nodded open-mouthed. Wide eyed stares that were still so innocent. Too innocent, I needed them to be cold, hardened killers. Ones that would kill anyone without question, without thought. And preferably ones that enjoyed inflicting pain on others.

"You know I want to look like a snake, a serpent. Prepare the potions, now," I said this quietly, but they all jumped to attention as if I had threatened them. Good. Now maybe they would be more loyal and submissive. The death eaters began scurrying out of the room, in fact they reminded me of rats.

I turned my attention back to the shattered mirror, and began contemplating my new image. Red eyes, slits, a snake with the palest of white skin. Although my skin had always been pale, it must have had something to do with all that time I spent in dungeons, whether within the orphanage or Hogwarts.

My thoughts slowly drifted back to Dumbledore, he knew, he knew everything. Everything that I had tried so carefully tried to keep secret, fell into his lap when I looked into his eyes. Oh it was time to stop that. Although I had been faraway for many years, sinking deeper and deeper into my twisted soul. Nay, not twisted. Perfect… the perfect soul. The soul that is akin of that to Salazar Slytherin's. Nay, it wasn't perfect either. Because it had muggle blood in it. Muggle feelings, muggle doings. I was worthless.

I had to purge myself… and clean my soul, make it fit for the doings that would occur. I had to be ready for the transformations.


End file.
